


How d'you feel abouthe Violin?

by unofficialsherlockian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fan Art, Gen, General fiction, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unofficialsherlockian/pseuds/unofficialsherlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>'Music expresses that which cannot be said...' -Victor Hugo</p>
<p>'And from the next room drifted the soul-searing sounds of a man playing the most beautiful instrument in the world, and charming from it's strings all that he could not, and dared not, say in words...' -Watson in The Christmas Bear by Bill Craider</p>
    </blockquote>





	How d'you feel abouthe Violin?

**Author's Note:**

> 'Music expresses that which cannot be said...' -Victor Hugo
> 
> 'And from the next room drifted the soul-searing sounds of a man playing the most beautiful instrument in the world, and charming from it's strings all that he could not, and dared not, say in words...' -Watson in The Christmas Bear by Bill Craider

John heard the violin as he made his way up the stairs. It made him slow down-not because he hadn't heard it before; there'd been many nights where he'd come home to its wails. But John recognised this song. It wasn't some classical piece or something Sherlock'd invented. This was The Cave by Mumford and Sons. He stopped where he was and listened for a while, slightly surprised that this was one of Sherlock's music preferences-but then, he'd never bothered to ask where Sherlock's music interests lie.

He climbed the remaining stairs slowly, not wanting to disturb Sherlock. As he did, John listened to the music. The song was beautiful on the violin. And then, at the same time John reached the top of the stairs, Sherlock began to sing.

'It's empty in the valley of your heart,  
The sun it rises slowly as you walk…'

John came closer to the door, captivated by the violin and Sherlock's voice. It suited him perfectly-quiet, but strong, and filled with emotion.

Then Sherlock turned around with the music and John hid in the doorway, but it didn't matter; Sherlock's eyes were shut tightly, lost in the song.

'But I will hold on hope…' John stepped into the doorway slowly, listening to the chorus of the song. Sherlock's voice rose steadily with each line, and then was quiet again as he sang the next verse. 

But then Sherlock's playing sped up into a fierce wave of notes and his voice rose again, strengthened by a wave of emotion. 'So tie me to a post and block my ears,' Sherlock chorused bitingly, 'I can see windows and orphans through my tears…' His voice grew stronger as he filled the next two lines with emotion: 'And know my call despite my faults and/ despite my growing fears.'

John wondered if the words Sherlock sang so passionately reflected the man himself. Did Sherlock have faults and fears that made him hesitate in what he was doing? John had always seen music-well, any art for that matter- as an outlet for the cries of the soul. And he supposed that's what the violin meant for Sherlock.

The came the final bits before the closing chorus. Sherlock murmured them gently, his voice softly confident.

'So make your siren's call,  
And sing all you want,  
I will not hear what you have to say…' John's eyes filled with tears as he heard the raw emotion from the violin.

'Cause I need freedom now  
And I need to know how  
To live my life as it's meant to be…'

The violin grew fiercer, Sherlock's body moving rhythmically with the music, the sustained 'Ahhhh' was breathed from his lips, though Sherlock made it sound like the cry of one being released from some awful prison.

The final chorus was the perfect marriage between man and instrument. Sherlock moved with the notes, circling slightly in the room, crying out the lyrics and making gasps for breath between lines. And then it was over. Sherlock's bow slid gracefully over the strings, drawing out and extending the final note.

And then Sherlock opened his eyes and John saw they were filled with emotion he'd never before seen in the man. John still had tears in his eyes as Sherlock looked at him, blinking once, emotion giving way to embarrassment and slight puzzlement at the look on John's face.

'That—that was beautiful,' John said quietly, coming into the room and wiping his eyes.

Sherlock stayed frozen where he was, violin and bow dripping limply from his fingertips. Then he cleared his throat and crossed the room to put away his instrument, letting his fingers brush it gently before he snapped the lid of the case closed. 'You…ah…you liked it?' He turned slowly and looked at John.

John thought for a moment. 'I must've heard you playing dozens of times and heard that song playing many times more. But…that was the most personal and deep and…passionate I've ever heard you or the song played.'

Sherlock blinked and looked momentarily taken aback, as he always did when John complimented him. 'Thank you…' Sherlock said quietly.

John smiled softly, thinking. Music was a way for the soul to cry out. To express those inner emotions that man never knew he had. And Sherlock was no exception. He showed little emotion as a rule-maybe because he dared not to. But the violin gave him a voice to cry out with, when he was so mute in life. The voice was a sad one, but perhaps that was what was behind those cold and steady eyes. Sherlock was a person, needing to cry out to the world. Needing some way of showing himself. And perhaps through this song, in the quiet of the flat, he could.

It wasn't just the beauty of the playing that had made the tears fall from John's eyes. Nor the perfect beauty of musician and instrument, voice and violin fully together. It had been the rawness of the soul that John and felt through the music. John looked at the man who now sat opposite him. And what he saw was beautiful.


End file.
